Breath of Life
by boasamishipper
Summary: Logic had it wrong. Apparently it was possible to drown in the desert.


**Breath of Life by boasamishipper**  
***Logic had it wrong. Apparently it was possible to drown in the desert.**

**So I recently discovered the television show Rat Patrol and fell in love with it immediately. I mostly grew attached to Private Tully Pettigrew, who seems to have some sort of record of not getting hurt (with the exception of the episode "The David and Goliath Raid"). That record was just waiting to be broken. :) So, with no further ado, I present to you "Breath of Life".**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Rat Patrol. Wish I did, though...**

...

_Air, air, AIR!_

Tully's mind screams this at him but no matter how much he struggles his head is still held firmly under the ice-cold water by one of the German soldiers. Suddenly he can feel the freezing water entering his lungs and he starts fading away from consciousness, his muscles slowly relaxing against his will.

_Got to hold on,_ he tells himself sternly. _Got to hold...on..._

He knows that Dietrich had to be behind this. There's no other reason why Tully would've been stolen away in the dead of the night from the Rat Patrol's camp. The Germans have to want him for something...maybe a ransom? _Sarge considers Dietrich a man of honor_, Tully knows. In which case, why are they attempting to drown him?

_God_, Tully thinks, _please let it be quick_...

He tries to hold his breath for as long as he can, trying to think of a reason, any reason, that the Germans are doing this to him. The only thing that comes to mind is their raid on a training camp several days earlier. They had blown through the camp and had barely managed to scavenge a couple of the German maps before escaping. Sarge and Moffitt had gotten away with several scratches, while Hitch's left arm had gotten grazed with a bullet.

He hadn't gotten hurt at all.

Tully supposes this is their messed up version of revenge. _We killed their men, so they're going to kill me_, he realizes, his heart pounding faster. _Oh, my god..._

Just when he feels he can't hang on any longer, Tully feels someone's hand yank him upwards by his collar.

Spluttering and gasping in a deep lungful of air, Tully fights to focus on the German soldier leering over him. "Well, well, well, Private," the soldier says, sneering. "I don't believe anyone has ever lasted this long before. Congratulations."

Tully sneers back as best as he could. "I'd like to thank my p-parents f-for this honor."

The soldier backhands him across the face, muttering a curse in German under his breath.

"My friends are going to make you pay," Tully says, unable to think of anything else to say.

The soldier laughs, and Tully finds himself growing slightly scared. Why is he laughing? "Your so-called friends," the German says, "are nowhere to be found. They have a jeep and maps at their disposal. Why is it that they haven't found you yet?"

"The desert's large," Tully states calmly. "No one can find a needle in a haystack in under a minute. They'll come." He really wishes he had one of his matchsticks to chew on right about now.

"Will they?"

"Yes," insists Tully, sounding sure of himself even though about half of his mind is beginning to doubt it. Could Sarge and Moffitt and Hitch really find him?

"Perhaps they will," concedes the soldier, much to Tully's surprise. "But they won't find you alive." He tries to push Tully's head back under the water, but the private fights as hard as he can. Tully knows that he can't go out like this. He can't! What would his parents think? For that matter, what would his friends think?

The German cocks back his hand with a growl and punches Tully in the forehead.

Stars twinkle in his vision. He can hear the German mutter, "Auf wiedersehen, mein freund," under his breath, and feels himself drop back into the icy bucket of water.

Tully can't find any fight left in him, and decides to surrender to the darkness. He can't imagine why he'd been fighting so hard against it in the first place. It didn't hurt in the blackness, after all.

_It's better here_, he thinks with finality, ignoring the gunshots and shouts he hears on the surface. And with that, Tully Pettigrew's heart ceases to beat.

...

It's been a horrible day so far and Sergeant Sam Troy knows that the only way it can possibly improve is if Hitler gets killed or, even better, his missing man is found.

Tully had gone missing in the middle of the night in the midst of a hell of a lot of gunfire and commotion caused by the Jerries and the Rat Patrol. Moffitt had discovered a note scrawled in German about Tully's whereabouts that morning and had been working on deciphering it ever since.

Troy lets out a sigh, the worry for Tully evident on his face. _Tully, where the hell are you?_

As if to echo his thoughts, Hitch sighs from across the tent, fingering the bandage on his left arm from where the bullet had grazed it. "Sarge?" he asks heavily.

He grunts, sitting down.

"You think... You think Tully's alive?" Hitch asks, sounding like he's trying to be tough but underneath the gruff voice lay a man who'd lost his best friend.

Troy sighs again. "I hope so," he says, because he can't automatically assume that Tully Pettigrew's alive and well. There's also a chance, no matter how infinitesimally small, that the private could be dead

_Sometimes_, he thinks, _I really hate my job._

Moffitt suddenly bursts in, a sheet of paper crumpled in his hand. Troy finds himself on his feet with no memory of getting there. "What'd you find, Moffitt?" he barks.

"Took me a while to unscramble it," the Brit says, "but it's a Yiddish proverb. Translated, it says that 'if a man is destined to drown, he will drown even in a spoonful of water'." Moffitt looks serious. "Troy, you don't think they'll drown Tully, do you?"

"How can they?" Hitch asks logically. "We're in the middle of the desert."

"Logic or not," Moffitt says, "if they want to drown him for whatever reason, they'll find a way." He pauses, brows furrowing. "Troy?"

"Were there coordinates on the note also, Moffitt?" asks the American sergeant.

Moffitt nods. "They lead to a camp about thirty miles from here."

"Then what're we still doing here?" says Troy. "Let's shake it."

_Tully, we're coming_. Troy pauses before looking skyward for a brief moment. _God_, he prays, _don't let him be dead._

They find the camp fairly easily and manage to infiltrate it without shooting anyone, a fact that Private Mark Hitchcock both enjoys and dislikes at the same time, because if these men had hurt Tully in any way there was going to be hell to pay.

His breath hitches in his chest as he hears a faint scream echoing from one of the tents. Hitch wants nothing more than to rush in and rescue his friend, but Moffitt's hand on his shoulder stops him. "What's the plan?" he asks hoarsely.

"We wait for an opportunity and when one presents itself, we take it," Sarge says grimly, looking like he doesn't like the plan any more than Hitch does but knows that there isn't a better one than to just go in there guns-a-blazin'.

Hitch nods reluctantly and the men wait, hidden outside the tent. They flinch almost in perfect unison whenever they hear Tully gasp or scream.

"My friends are going to make you pay," Hitch hears his friend gasp, and he feels lightheaded again.

"Your so-called friends," he hears a soldier say scathingly, "are nowhere to be found. They have a jeep and maps at their disposal. Why is it that they haven't found you yet?"

"The desert's large. No one can find a needle in a haystack in under a minute. They'll come."

"Will they?"

"Yes," insists Tully, and Hitch nearly groans when he hears the slightest hints of doubt in the private's voice. Hitch looks over at Sarge, who remains stoic, but is gripping his pistol so hard that his knuckles are white.

"Perhaps they will," says the soldier, much to the surprise of the Rat Patrol. "But they won't find you alive."

Hitch's stomach drops to his combat boots. He grits his teeth when he hears the soldier say, "Auf wiedersehen," and sends a pleading look to Sarge, who nods.

"Now," the sergeant orders, and the Rat Patrol storm into the tent, where a hideous sight awaits them.

Tully lies crumpled on the ground, several bruises on his arms and legs, his uniform torn, helmet missing, and a bucket of water lying next to his head.

Hitch suddenly gets a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Tully?" he asks, his voice quivering.

His friend doesn't stir or answer. Hitch can clearly see his chest isn't rising or falling.

Tully was dead.

The soldier laughs maniacally. "And now, we remain even, Sergeant Troy!"

"Not quite," Sarge says calmly before shooting the soldier directly into his heart. As the soldier falls to the ground, dead, Sarge continues, "_Now_ we remain even."

...

The very moment Troy shoots the German in the heart, Sergeant Jack T. Moffitt races over to Tully, trying to find a pulse. His fingers shake as he tries to locate one near the private's throat and fails. He presses his ear next to Tully's chest and fails to find a heartbeat.

"He's dead," Moffitt says, his voice awash with a resigned incredulity.

"I don't believe it," Hitch whispers.

Moffitt can't believe it either. How can Tully Pettigrew, their driver, their friend, possibly be dead? He had died in such a horrible way too, doubting that his friends would come after him.

_Oh, God_, Moffitt thinks sadly. _Tully, I'm so sorry..._

Troy looks unwilling to believe it also. His fists are clenched tightly at his sides. The pistol used to shoot the soldier who'd been torturing Tully lay forgotten on the ground. "Damn it!" he suddenly curses. "No, it cannot be the end of the rope for him!"

"Sarge," Hitch says, his voice shaking, "Tully's dead."

"He isn't allowed to die like this, damnit!" Troy continues on as if Hitch hadn't spoken. "Moffitt." His voice is now desperate. "Isn't there anything we can do?"

Moffitt starts to say no, but then an obvious solution hits him, so obvious he wonders why he didn't think of it immediately. "CPR," he mutters under his breath.

"What?"

"CPR!" he repeats, louder, before leaning over Tully's body, checking once more for a pulse and heartbeat. Finding none, he places his hands on Tully's sternum and uses his body weight as leverage to pump his chest. He presses down on it with both hands hard and fast. Tully's body jerks under his compressions, and Moffitt is grateful when Troy and Hitch help him hold Tully down.

"Come on," Moffitt hears Troy growl under his breath. "Come on, Tully. You aren't going to let a bastard like that get the best of you, are you?"

With each thrust to his chest, Tully's head lolls a little. Other than that, his pale body is completely still. Moffitt does another round of compressions, but Tully is still unresponsive.

"Come on." Moffitt finds himself joining in on Troy's desperate litany. "Come on, Tully, you can beat this."

Hitch is squeezing his fellow private's hand so hard that his own knuckles are turning white. "Tully," he whispers. "Come on."

Moffitt tilts Tully's head back, holding his breath as he tries to feel a pulse, but there's nothing. He listens for a heartbeat, and hears nothing.

Moffitt pauses. _Wait_.

There had been a movement that hadn't been his own adrenaline-fueled terror.

Moffitt doesn't dare move, lest it had been his imagination. "Tully?" he whispers in shock.

He peers closely at Tully and almost gives a shout of exuberance when he sees Tully's chest rising and falling raggedly. "Oh my God," he whispers in shock.

"He's alive?" Hitch asks, his voice cracking with emotion. "Oh my God..."

Tully gives a weak cough. Troy's head shoots up in shock. Tully coughs once more, his brow furrowing as he chokes for air.

Moffitt quickly turns Tully onto his side. The private begins to hack up water, coughing horribly and flails on the ground for several seconds before going still.

For one terrible moment, Moffitt thinks that Tully had really died on them that time. "Tully?" he asks in a voice he prays isn't shaking.

Tully manages to open both eyes, staring at the Rat Patrol like the sight of them is the craziest thing he can think of. He whispers something that neither Troy, Hitch or Moffitt can make out.

"What'd you say?" Troy asks.

Tully coughs out the word 'matchstick' before elaborating. "...wish I had...matchstick..." he whispers. "Jerries...wouldn't gimme...any..."

Moffitt feels like jumping and laughing and crying all at once, but refrains. Troy's eyes shine with barely repressed emotion. Hitch looks ecstatic, like Christmas had come early. Tully looks completely disoriented.

"H-how'd you f-find me?" coughs Tully, sounding downright pitiful.

"Doesn't matter," Troy says, his voice gruff and gentle at the same time. He tousles the private's hair. "You're okay, aren't you?"

"Th-they tried to...to drown m-me, S-Sarge," Tully says, the tiniest sliver of humor in his words. "Not...really at my best now."

"I assumed as much," Troy says. "They do anythin' else?"

"Bruised me up...tried to g-get me to say my r-rank, spill s-secrets. I didn't talk. M'fine, th-though." Tully tries to sit up, and Hitch helps him. "What happened to the soldier?"

"Sarge shot him," is Hitch's response.

_Good thing he had_, Moffitt finds himself thinking, _otherwise I'd have killed him myself._

"You okay to stand, Tully?" Tully nods, and both Troy and Moffitt help the bruised and weakened private to his feet. Tully's knees shake, but he manages to keep upright. Yet another miracle. Moffitt wonders how many more miracles it'll take to get Tully out of here.

"Wait." Tully grips Troy's arm. "They drowned me. Didn't they?"

Hitch and Troy nod.

"Then...how'm I still alive?" Tully asks. He tries to lock his knees in order to keep standing. Troy grips his arm.

"Moffitt did CPR," Troy informs Tully, who looks a bit disgusted but overall impressed.

Tully coughs several times before choking out, "Thanks, Doc."

Moffitt shrugs, emotionless on the outside but happy on the inside. "Piece of cake."

...

Tully sits in the back of the jeep next to Hitch, while Sarge and Moffitt drive back to their camp, solidly insisting that Tully see a doctor. He had tried to protest, but knew it was futile.

"Hey." Hitch bumps his shoulder. Tully looks over at his friend, who's twisting his kepi in his hands over and over again. "I'm, uh, glad you're okay, Tully."

Tully half-smiles. "Thanks, Hitch," he says quietly. _Lord, I didn't think I'd make it outta that one_, he thinks. _I'm glad I did, though._

"What was it like to be, you know," Hitch hesitates, "uh, dead?"

Tully remembers what it had felt like to be dead, sort of like an eternal nothingness. Then he had felt pain in chest, heard growled whispers, and had suddenly been coughing up water on the floor of the German tent. He tells Hitch this.

"No white light, then?"

"Nah," Tully says. "No white light."

"Huh." Hitch looks mildly intrigued, but stops asking questions. Tully is a bit grateful, because now all he wants to do is rest.

"Thanks for rescuin' me, guys," he says before dropping off.

He doesn't hear all three of his fellow Rat Patrol members each mutter, "Anytime."


End file.
